


Pie in the Sky

by uena



Series: The Sweetest Thing [33]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uena/pseuds/uena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Athos and Porthos have some thoughts on recent developments and then go out for cake with Aramis and Constance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [princeyoungjaes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/princeyoungjaes/gifts).



Porthos finds Athos on the roof.

It’s a Saturday, and Aramis is out with Constance, acting as her shopping mule. They are meeting them for coffee later in the day - as far as Porthos is concerned no reason to sneak out of the apartment without telling him.

He was worried.

It took him ten minutes to get a clue. The open window in Athos’ room helped, but only a little. It’s almost always open.

Porthos isn’t quite sure what brought Athos here, but one look at his friend makes him assume that his head is somewhere quite beyond mortal spheres. He looks half-asleep, even from a distance and in bad light.

The morning is cloudy, the sky grey with gathering clouds, threatening rain. Not quite Easter weather yet.

Athos doesn’t seem to be aware. As far as Porthos can tell he’s not aware of anything in particular at the moment; the way he’s gazing up towards the clouds, his arms crossed in front of his chest, huddling against the wind … it reminds Porthos of the day he found him out in the park, after another failed attempt of making love to someone - the last one.

… The last one before Aramis, that is.

Athos looks cold and a little lost, and Porthos is glad he brought an extra cardigan up the fire escape. He advances purposefully now, drapes it over Athos’ hunched shoulders.

Athos doesn’t flinch at his sudden appearance; he allows Porthos to wrap him up warmly; but he avoids eye-contact.

Porthos frowns. “Somethin’ the matter?”

Athos shakes his head, still staring stubbornly up at the sky. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” Porthos wants to know.

While Athos is allowed to do pretty much everything he wants, always, no matter what, Porthos still thinks he’s entitled to some basic information. He doesn’t think he did anything wrong, recently; and Aramis didn’t either.

Still, it’s entirely possible that Athos might need some space after what happened between them the other night. That he needs to find his balance.

Porthos would understand that. He needs to find his balance, too. You don’t have sex with your best friend after years and years of knowing him without being thrown off your groove, at least a little.

“Nothing in particular,” Athos says vaguely. His voice sounds soft and a little dreamy, and Porthos realizes that whatever brought him up to the roof, discomfort wasn’t it.

So he puts his hand on Athos’ shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze, moves to leave him alone. “Be sure to come back inside when you get too cold, yeah?”

He makes it to the edge of the roof, and then Athos voice stops him. “Please, stay.”

Porthos turns, looks at Athos across the space that’s separating them, takes in how he looks in the cardigan Porthos brought him.

Athos is a tall man, almost as tall as Porthos, but he’s much slighter than him, slighter even than Aramis, with a dainty waist and quite unassuming shoulders. The cardigan makes him look slighter still, but it also gives his appearance something solid and delightfully comfortable.

Porthos walks back across the roof, and this time Athos’ attention is on him and only him. It used to give Porthos such a thrill, to have all that focus to himself - that clear green gaze that could see through all his bullshit and still loved him best.

It made him so proud, being Athos’ favourite.

Porthos is quite aware that that’s no longer the case. Aramis’ addition to their lives has split Athos’ affection. It doesn’t really bother Porthos. He’s not jealous.

He doesn’t have any reason to be jealous. In a way he’s still Athos’ favourite, he just has to share the place on the podium with Aramis now. It’s a good thing he was always very good at sharing.

Most of the time Athos still looks at him the same, and when he doesn’t, he’s looking at Aramis; which is almost as good, if not better. Aramis brings out traits of Athos in a way Porthos never could - because he never _needed_ them.

Porthos never needed Athos’ protection, or his gentleness - not the way Aramis does. It might just be that Porthos is altogether too robust to bring out these qualities in Athos; and that’s alright. Porthos finds it difficult to allow others to care for him anyway, is much better at being the caregiver himself.

And Athos needs him to be just that - maybe not as much as Aramis does, but still. They all need each other. That’s the beauty of it.

Porthos wouldn’t know what to do with himself without Aramis and Athos in his life. He needs Athos’ snark and his aloof drawl just as much as Aramis needs Athos’ quiet understanding ... as much as Athos needs Porthos to force him to eat and sleep sometimes.

So Porthos smiles as he steps back in front of Athos, just can’t help it.

Athos sees it take over his face and smiles back, huffs in fond exasperation. “What?”

“I’m happy,” Porthos tells him, hooking one finger into the V of Athos’ pullover - Aramis’ pullover really, if he’s not mistaken.

Athos rolls his eyes and remains motionless, his eyes still on Porthos’. “You are a simple man.”

“Always have been,” Porthos agrees, letting go of the soft fabric. “So. Are you gonna tell me what you’re doin’ up here, or what.”

The expression on Athos’ face turns serious. “I have been wondering about something … about Aramis.” He frowns and bites his lip and looks at a spot somewhere to the left of Porthos’ head for a moment. “I am not sure I should talk to him about it though. I do not want to make him uncomfortable.”

Porthos tilts his head, silently waiting for Athos to explain himself.

Athos has known him long enough to recognize such signs of invitation, so he continues, his voice somewhat cold and at odds with the slight flush spreading over his face.

“When we - the other night, when you were about to -” He stops himself, looking pained, and takes a deep breath, clears his throat. “Do you know if he was ever … mistreated - in bed I mean?”

Now it’s Porthos’ turn to fortify himself with a deep breath. He has no doubts as to whether Aramis would want him to tell Athos, so he doesn’t waste any time with hesitation. Instead he takes his time thinking about how to phrase it.

Athos can be so volatile at times, and Porthos doesn’t want to set him off.

“Not … physically,” he says eventually, squinting up at the sky. “I think he was too young for many of his partners - or so he told me - and they … teased him for his enthusiasm.”

“They called him names,” Athos says flatly.

He looks composed enough, if a little angry, and Porthos nods.

Some of the composure drops off Athos then, and he looks furious. “I know I should not have allowed you to pull me off Andy so easily that day.”

“But it would have been so difficult to get to where we are now if I’d allowed you to get yourself arrested,” Porthos reasons, reaching out to put a steadying hand on Athos’ shoulder. “And while Andy most certainly is a big part of the problem, I don’t think he’s actually the one to blame here - at least not the only one.”

Athos doesn’t look convinced, and Porthos moves his hand closer to Athos’ neck, rubs his thumb over his pulse. “He’s got us now. Relax.”

So Athos relaxes, if only a little, and Porthos looks at him from the corner of his eye. “You were really great with him, you know?”

Athos makes a sound like a disgruntled old cat. “Oh please.”

“Don’t shrug that off,” Porthos tells him, voice almost stern. “He was so much more comfortable with havin’ you watch than he might’ve been. He _trusts_ you, love.”

The endearment slips out without Porthos’ intention, and it makes Athos blush, makes him aim a flustered little smile at the ground. “Yes, well,” Athos says. “I am hardly a threatening personage.”

Porthos greets that statement with the most unimpressed expression he can manage. “Is that so?”

Athos actually dares to look affronted at this reaction, and Porthos has to stifle a giggle. “Oh come on. You know how abrasive you can be.”

“Not with Aramis though,” Athos says, his voice almost pleading. “I was always so careful -”

“Yes,” Porthos interrupts him gently. “You really were - right when you realized what a shy, vulnerable little bunny he was … is. The minute or so before that you nearly froze him to death with The Stare.”

Athos mumbles something unflattering about Porthos’ feats of memory, and this time Porthos does giggle. “What? I can’t tell the truth now? You know you didn’t like it when I chatted with him.”

“Because his online persona was insufferable,” Athos growls, “and I still fail to understand how he managed to disguise his real personality so very comprehensively.”

“I don’t think he did,” Porthos muses, pulling a face when a drop of rain finds his nose. “Let’s go inside, yeah? No reason for either of us to get sick again.”

Athos sighs and allows himself to be pulled towards the fire escape. They re-enter the apartment via his open window, and Porthos closes it behind them, rather emphatically.

Athos sighs. “Yes, yes, I know.”

“You know nothing,” Porthos mutters, pulling him close. “Your ancestors must have been vikings or somethin’ … the way you never feel the cold.”

Athos puts his arms around Porthos’ neck then, gratifyingly meek. “I have you to warm me up now, do I not?”

“What do you mean - now?” Porthos grunts. “You always had me.”

“I am beginning to understand why some of your previous partners disliked me so insistently,” Athos whispers into his chest.

Porthos blinks and marches them over to the bed, tips them onto the bouncy surface.

Athos lets out an oumph of surprise and clings to him. “No need to flatten me into the mattress, you brute.”

Porthos brushes a kiss to his neck and feels him shiver. “You want me to stop?”

“Not particularly, no,” Athos replies, sounding adorably confused about it.

So Porthos presses another kiss to his warming skin, and another one.

“You … wanted to do this for a while, did you not?” he hears Athos whisper, and closes his eyes when he feels Athos’ hands in his hair, gently stroking back and forth. “I made you wait.”

“I wasn’t waitin’,” Porthos argues. “I believed you when you said you didn’t wanna be like this with anyone.”

“Turns out it was not the truth,” Athos says. He sounds guilty.

Porthos frowns and pushes himself up, levels a stern glare down at him. “Yes, it was.”

Athos looks back at him, and then he breathes out, slowly, relieved. “Yes. It was.” He closes his eyes and turns his head to the side, offers himself. “Please, continue.”

So Porthos does. He’s gentle and careful, his mouth nothing but the suggestion of pressure on Athos’ skin. Still it flushes and prickles with goosebumps, and when Athos lets out a noise that’s rather close to a moan, Porthos stills above him, holds his breath.


	2. Chapter 2

“Want me to stop after all?”

Athos remains silent for a long moment, and Porthos moves to the side and off his body, gives him space to breathe.

It’s cold in the room, because with Athos’ room that’s always the case; so Porthos pulls up the blanket from the foot of the bed, spreads it over Athos, strokes his hair away from his forehead.

Athos is looking at him, wide-eyed and insecure, and Porthos smiles, rubs his thumb along Athos’ left cheekbone. “It’s alright.”

Athos closes his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“No reason for that,” Porthos murmurs.

Athos looks so very vulnerable underneath that blanket, reminds Porthos of the boy he was at nineteen - so indignant about his body’s refusal to feel pleasure with anyone.

Porthos takes a deep breath. “I don’t know how to tell you this, love, but you realize I’m not with you for the sex, yeah?”

“Still it would be nice if we could -” Athos stops himself and bites his lip, and Porthos grins at him.

“Felt good the other night, didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did,” Athos replies, blushing ever so slightly. Then he frowns. Pales.

Porthos tilts his head. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Mh-hm. Yeah. No. Out with it.”

Athos rolls onto his belly then, buries his face in the cushion. “What if it is Aramis?”

His voice is muffled and his back is tense, and Porthos pouts in confusion. “I’m gonna need a little more than that, darlin’.”

Athos groans, and rolls over to face him. “What if it’s him I am … sexually attracted to.”

The last three words come out pained, as if Athos had to dredge them up from the darkest pits of his conscience.

Porthos’ forehead crinkles. “Well, duh.”

“Only him.” Two more, dredged up from even deeper.

Porthos contemplates that possibility for a moment. Shrugs. “Fine by me.”

Athos stares at him. “What.”

“What?” Porthos asks back, indignation stirring in his breast. “You think I’m some kind of animal that has to fuck everythin’ in its vicinity?”

“Of course I do not think that,” Athos replies, aghast. He sits up, clutching the blanket to his chest. “But you are -” He stops, gestures at Porthos’ general everything.

“Hot?” Porthos guesses, and adds a wink, for good measure.

Athos flushes, but nods. “Yes.”

Porthos grins at him and sits up as well. “Well, I guess this is what it feels like for straight people. They can tell a member of the same sex looks good, but they don’t want to fuck it all the same.”

Athos still looks insecure, so Porthos reaches out, takes his hand. “You _like_ me, don’t you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Athos huffs.

Porthos dimples at him. “Indulge me.”

Athos rolls his eyes. “Yes, Porthos, I _like_ you. Quite a lot.”

“And you wanna touch me, occasionally, and snuggle me, and kiss me …”

“And strangle you, also occasionally,” Athos adds, dry as dust.

“Good enough for me,” Porthos concludes. “See, I’m in this for the lovin’ … for your _companionship_ , you daft bugger. It’s quite alright if you sometimes don’t wanna be close, if you don’t want our naughty bits touchin’ -”

“Are you talking to the kids like this?” Athos interrupts him in a suspicious voice. “Are you giving me The Talk right now?”

“Did I use the word Love Nozzle?” Porthos asks back, feigning indignation. “I think not.”

A helpless laugh shakes through Athos, makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Yes, alright. Continue.”

“What I’m tryin’ to say,” Porthos explains, giving Athos’ hand an emphatic squeeze, “is that I love you, just the way you are. I’d probably lose my mind if you let me at your butt anyway.”

Athos socks him in the shoulder for that, and Porthos twinkles at him, rubbing the sore spot. “What, it’s _true_.”

“My butt,” Athos says, nose in the air, “is nothing special.”

“It’s special to me,” Porthos argues. “Cause you are.”

Athos groans. “You are horrible.”

“And you love me.”

“And I love you.”

Porthos leans in then, slowly, giving Athos time to back out. But Athos stays where he is, so Porthos kisses him, softly, on the lips.

When he straightens Athos is smiling at him, a warm light in his eyes. “We don’t make it easy for you, Aramis and I - do we?”

“You make it easy for me to _love you_ ,” Porthos replies, matter of fact. “Don’t worry about me, love, okay? You figure this out for yourself. I’m happy with anythin’ you wanna give me - and very happy to watch you get it on with Aramis, should the mood strike you.”

Athos groans.

“Just sayin’,” Porthos grins. “It’s an option.”

 

When they join Constance and Aramis in Alice’s café for coffee later that day, Constance looks annoyed, and Aramis somewhat harassed. Porthos leans in to greet him with a kiss, while Athos gives him a hug, and Aramis sighs, slumps deeper into his chair when Athos lets go of him.

“Somethin’ the matter?” Porthos asks before he can stop himself, and next to him Athos tries to hold back an amused snort, and fails.

“Let me take this one, why don’t you?” He clears his throat, and levels a glare at Constance. “What did you do?”

Constance glares back at him, and Aramis spasms in his chair, starts to flutter his hands at Athos in a rather agitated manner. “Nothing! She did nothing!”

Athos slithers into the chair next to him and shrugs off his jacket. “Then what happened? If I remember correctly, you were looking forward to this outing … And as far as I can tell by the number of bags under the table, your shopping trip was very successful.”

“Oh, it was,” Constance says breezily. “It was magical. I got everything I wanted. There was even a _man_ ,” Constance adds, her voice suddenly dripping with venom. “He was very handsome. _Hot_. He had an amazing smile. Dimples. He was basically Porthos 2.0.”

Across the table from her, Aramis buries his face in his hands.

“He flirted with me,” Constance continues, only to stop her tale when the waiter appears at their table to ask for Athos and Porthos’ orders.

Porthos rattles his off - a cappuccino and chocolate cake - while Athos takes forever to decide, just to order precisely the same five minutes later.

“He flirted with you,” Porthos urges Constance on once the young man has finally left them alone, and she takes a dainty sip of her latté, gives Aramis the stink eye.

“He flirted with me,” she repeats, her voice as flat as roadkill. “And then he asked me _if Aramis was single_.”

Aramis more or less flops off his chair in disgrace at that point.

Porthos laughs out loud, only to cower and make guilty eyes at Constance when she snarls at him.

“As if it wasn’t enough that he already has not one but _two_ splendid men in his life,” Constance sputters. “No! He has to -”

Here she stops herself, and reaches across the table to take Aramis’ hand. “I know you didn’t do anything, Aramis. Just let me vent.”

Porthos blinks in amazement at that smooth change of front, and watches Athos take Aramis’ other hand - hears him congratulate Aramis on his irresistible charm.

He feels about as overwhelmed as Aramis looks.

“Well,” he says, very slowly. “It must have been a sign.”

“A sign not to take Aramis shopping again, yes,” Constance fires back.

“A sign that you should date Turtle Boy,” Athos contradicts her. “He appears to be immune to Aramis’ allure after all. To Porthos’ even.”

That statement makes Constance flush, and then she rolls her eyes, has a giant bite of her strawberry cheesecake. “I don’t date children, sorry.”

“You are aware that he is, in fact, legal,” Athos drawls at her.

For a precarious moment she looks like she might stab him with her fork.

“I am aware, thank you,” she says then. “Why is everyone so invested in my love life all of a sudden?”

“I do not know about the others, but I for one have to pay off a debt,” Athos purrs in return.

Porthos has no idea what’s gotten into him. He understands what Athos is saying alright, he just doesn’t know why. Unless -

“Feelin’ bad for Turtle Boy, are you?” he mutters into Athos’ ear, low enough so Constance can’t hear him.

Athos sighs. “Watching him look at her does hurt a bit, yes.”

Porthos smiles, and pats his knee.

Constance watches them over the table with a certain amount of distrust. “What are you hatching?”

“Nothing at all,” Athos replies. “But let me assure you from my own experience: not allowing yourself to find happiness with someone just to prevent others saying ‘I told you so’ is a stupid reason.”

Constance looks back at him in silence for a long moment, and eventually returns to her slice of cheesecake. She orders another one when Athos and Porthos receive their orders, as well as a giant caramel latté for Aramis.

“Because I was mean to you,” she explains when he makes confused eyes at her, “and you deserve some sugar in your life - even when you already have your Thoses.”

Aramis looks both flustered and pleased, and Porthos smiles at Constance, warm and approving. “You can call Turtle Boy now and tell him about his good fortune, if you wanna.”

That’s when she stabs him with her fork.


	3. Chapter 3

“Oh my God, Porthos, are you alright?”

Alice appears next to their table, looking positively distressed, and Porthos laughs up at her as he rubs the sore spot on his leg. “Yeah, don’t worry - I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did,” Constance agrees firmly, her eyes failing to contain a smile.

Porthos gets up from his chair then, to enfold Alice in a hug and give her a squeeze. “I didn’t know you were here today.”

She hugs him back and rubs his shoulder. “I just came in.”

Having her close feels nice, the way it always does, and Porthos is reluctant to let go of her. But he can’t keep holding on to Alice with Aramis and Athos watching - he’d never hear the end of it. So he releases her from his arms and takes half a step back.

Once he does Athos gets up to take his place, offering his hand to Alice. “You look well.”

“So do you,” she replies, smiling at him. “I like the new hair cut.”

Her gaze trails to Aramis then, who has stood up as well, and is blushing ever so faintly.

“I remember you,” she says, her gaze brightening with recognition.

That only serves to make him blush harder, and Porthos reaches out and pulls him in, puts a steadying hand on his shoulder. “This is Aramis.”

“Yes, I know,” she says, dimpling as she takes Aramis’ hand into hers. “I still have a couple of pictures on my phone from your first date - do you want them?”

“Definitely, yes,” Porthos replies, enjoying the way Aramis relaxes under his touch. “The lady who stabbed me is Constance, by the way.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Alice smiles, meaning every word; Porthos can tell.

“Join us for a bit,” he invites her. “Your chocolate cake is particularly good today.”

“I tweaked the recipe,” she discloses with a proud little grin and waits for Porthos to steal her a chair from the adjoining table, sits down between him and Constance, possibly to shield him from further attacks.

“Did you add crack?” Constance asks, indicating her cheesecake. “Cause that would explain _a lot_.”

They talk about the café for a bit then, and some of Alice’s plans for the future.

“We’ve made so much money in the last year that I need to find myself a new charity to support,” she smiles, looking over at Athos. “Any to recommend?”

“Several,” he replies. “I shall send you links later.”

“Thank you.”

She looks around the table then, from one face to the other. “So, what else is new? I feel like I haven’t talked to you guys in _ages_ \- and that after my chocolate cake was essential to the success of your first date!”

Porthos chuckles and looks at Athos from the corner of his eye. “Well …”

“Well what?” Alice asks. “I know that tone of voice, Porthos du Vallon. What have you done?”

Constance snorts at that point, and mutters something that sounds a lot like, “Not what, who.”

Athos blushes ever so slightly. And takes Porthos’ hand.

“There has been a development that should please you,” he says softly, while Porthos finds it rather difficult to contain his bubbling emotions.

He’ll never get over Athos claiming their relationship in public, over the slight flutter in his voice and the red in his cheeks while he holds his head high, at the same time vulnerable and strangely proud.

Porthos never wants to kiss him more than in these moments - wants to hold him tight and warm and safe and promise him that he’ll love him forever, come what may.

For a moment Alice looks taken aback, and then the kind of smile breaks out on her face that made Porthos fall in love with her over a decade ago.

 _Then_ she scrunches up her nose, clearly confused. “But -”

 _Aramis_ hangs suspended in the air between them, and Porthos clears his throat, squints up at the ceiling while Athos clings to his hand. “Him too.”

“Him too what?” Alice inquires, a little flustered.

“They’re dating,” Constance explains briefly, apparently done with them beating around the bush like this. “All of them. Blissfully.”

Porthos nods and points his chin in Constance’s direction. “What she said.”

It takes Alice about a second to digest that, and then she claps her hands, visibly delighted. “Oh, I _like_ that.”

 

“Told you she’s an angel,” Porthos says to Aramis later, when they’re back home and on the couch.

Aramis smiles and nods, strokes his hand through his hair in a thoughtful manner. He’s biting his lip and staring down at his knees, clearly holding something back.

“What is it?” Porthos asks him, pulls Aramis into his lap when he doesn’t answer right away, kisses his cheek. “Don’t tell me you didn’t like her.”

He’s clearly joking, but Aramis still widens his eyes and assures him with absolute sincerity that he likes Alice _a lot_.

“She’s nice,” he adds, “and very pretty … and she seems to like Athos, too.” He bites his lip again. “Which is why I don’t understand -”

“Why it didn’t work out between us?” Porthos asks, failing to hold back a grin.

Aramis nods. “Just that.”

“Cause we were fifteen, Aramis, that’s why,” Porthos explains, a hint of amusement in his voice. “People kept tellin’ us we’re perfect for each other, and we _were_ … perfect to the point of boredom.”

“They never fought,” Athos chimes in, carrying their stained glass tea pot over from the kitchen. “It was despicable.”

Aramis blinks up at him. “ _You_ never fight.”

Athos looks affronted at the very suggestion. “Of course we do! Porthos and I fight about _everything_.” He sits down next to Porthos and pulls Aramis’ feet into his lap once he’s distributed the tea into their glasses. “Just because we do it quietly does not mean we are not fighting.”

Aramis narrows his eyes at him, quizzically. “It kind of does though.”

“See,” Athos smiles, gesticulating between himself and Aramis. “Fighting.”

That makes Aramis laugh, makes him throw back his head and melt into Porthos. “If this is fighting, Porthos and Alice must have been truly insufferable together.”

“They were,” Athos confirms. “I was heartbroken when they ended it.”

Porthos clears his throat and glares at Athos from the corner of his eye. “Will you stop it.”

“But I _was_ ,” Athos insists. “It was so awkward, when she stopped talking to me in class all of a sudden.”

“You’re a sodding liar,” Porthos growls. “You were the one who cut _her_ and I had to tell you to stop it.”

Athos examines his nails. “Yes. Well. She had just dumped my best friend.”

“No, she hadn’t!” Porthos fumes. “We called it quits _amicably_.”

“And I was supposed to believe that?” Athos snorts. “If I am quite honest still refuse to do so.”

Porthos looks at him for a long moment, and then he reaches out, grabs a cushion and hits Athos over the head with it.

Aramis nearly suffocates on his giggles.

Athos lifts his nose and rakes both hands through his tousled hair. “I see you have run out of arguments.”

“One more word and I’m gonna tackle you,” Porthos threatens.

Athos doesn’t look impressed. “With Aramis in your lap? I do not think so.”

Aramis hiccups a laugh. “Is this an attempt to convince me that you, in fact, do fight?”

“I have not decided yet,” Athos drawls. “Is it working?”

Porthos sighs, deep and heartfelt. “God, you’re adorable.”

He follows his first impulse, leans to the side and reels Athos in, presses their mouths together.

When he pulls back from the kiss Athos looks dazed. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are glazed, and Porthos has to bite down on the instinct to kiss him again - deep and demanding, make him flush some more.

Athos blinks his lashes, and his eyes clear a little, and he looks very vulnerable all of a sudden. “I think I was wrong, earlier.”

Porthos has to kiss him again; and he loves the feel of Athos’ lips under his own, loves how warm and soft they are.

“About what?” he murmurs afterwards, can’t resist adding, “Me bein’ hot?”

Aramis’ throat produces something between a moan and the most affronted little gurgle Porthos has ever heard.

“I know, kitten,” Porthos whispers at him from the corner of his mouth. “How could he ever be wrong about that?”

This time it’s Athos who hits him over the head with a cushion, and Porthos very firmly takes it from him and hands it over to Aramis to hold on to. “What were you wrong about, love?” he whispers, as much warmth as sincere interest in his voice.

Athos doesn’t answer him. Instead he leans in and kisses Porthos once more, lips parted invitingly.

It would take a stronger man than Porthos to resist such an invitation. So he carefully brushes his tongue over that parted seam of lips; and when Athos doesn’t pull back, when he releases a warm breath against Porthos’ mouth and keeps himself utterly still, Porthos allows himself to take his mouth, to lick inside and taste him.

He’s rather aware of Aramis breathing heavily at the sight of them kissing, but he’s more concerned with keeping himself in check than paying attention to that.

 _Just kissing_ , Porthos reminds himself, closing his eyes. _Nothing more. And no pulling him into your lap either. Give him space. Let him come to you._

Because he thinks that might have been what went wrong earlier. Pulling Athos into bed with him and smothering him the way he did … it was too much. Just cuddling would’ve been fine, but that’s not what Porthos did.

Athos always overthinks everything, especially the physical aspects of any and all relationship. He needs time, needs space to allow himself to let down his guards and set his thoughts free to run wild by themselves for a while.

Or maybe it really is Aramis’ proximity that does it for him, Porthos has no idea at this point. It’s not that he minds. He’s just happy that he gets to kiss Athos.

So he does just that, with abandon, forgets about everything else ... while Athos kisses him back with beautiful eagerness, and Aramis claws his fingers into Porthos’ henley in an effort to remain both quiet and motionless.

Athos is making the neediest little sounds, and Porthos can tell that he’s lost to their kiss, that that huge brain of his has finally calmed down and allowed the body to take over. It’s why he doesn’t wonder at it when Athos presses closer to him, when his hand finds its way to Porthos’ chest, and grabs a bit of henley as well.

Aramis moves then, quietly and smoothly, and Athos takes his place, moves into Porthos’ lap and puts both arms around his neck, managing to keep kissing him all the while, sweet and irresistible, happily chipping away at Porthos’ self control.

But whatever the state of his own feelings, Porthos can tell that Athos is not aroused - not physically. This is something else, some other kind of pleasure, and Porthos is painfully aware that to assert his own lust might destroy the moment.

So he doesn’t. He holds back. And the longer it goes on, the less important it becomes. This is _glorious_.

Athos has never been so utterly soft in his arms, never been so deliciously _gone_. When Porthos pulls back to take a deep breath Athos voices his disapproval with something very close to a hiss and dives after him, buries his hands in Porthos’ curls and kisses that breath right back out of him.

That’s when Aramis, who has sat next to them as quiet as a mouse for close to twenty minutes now, moans helplessly.

Athos stops kissing Porthos when he hears it, and sits up.

He’s flushed, his hair is mussed, his lips are red and slick from kissing, and Porthos gave him a spectacular case of beard-burn - it doesn’t surprise Porthos at all when Aramis lets out a long, adoring sigh.

“I … did not expect that,” Athos says, sounding ridiculously happy.

Porthos can only sit and stare as he lifts a hand to his mouth, touches his swollen lips. Then Athos looks at him, looks him right in the eyes, and _smiles_. All Porthos can do is smile back and ball his hands into fists.

Athos notices, and bites that delectable bottom lip ... looks at him through his lashes before he glances at Aramis from the corner of his eye. “Would you mind taking over?”

Aramis doesn’t mind at all, which serves to end Porthos’ day on an absolutely perfect note.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 100th story on AO3.
> 
> Jesus on a Cracker.


End file.
